English Version: Sands & Sparrow

6

Above the cloudless sky, moonlight gracefully bathed the shimmering lights of the city. In the far distance, thousands of lights turned the dense mass of skyscrapers into a glittering spectacle. People resembled needle points, and cars moved like blood cells flowing through the veins of the city.

The air was thick around the coffee shop with a whiff of roasted beans giving a distinct aroma that gradually sets the mood. The smooth, brown milk created harmony with the cup. Its lustrous texture, topped with chocolate crumbles invoked by the coffee beans which placed themselves outside the mug, begging to be crushed. The vibrant aroma seemed to have extricated itself from the thick, creamy coating over the surface, penetrating a deep relaxing scent.

Margo wrapped her fingers around the cup, enjoying the heat that spreads through her hands. She winced at her coffee, and the first milky sip crept over to her taste bud and down to the throat felt heaven. Margo glanced outside the glass window and watched the people. She rested her hand under her chin, leaned her elbow over the table. The stars were there watching the world as she gazed her reflection from the glass panel. She could see herself wearing a black baseball cap, a white shirt with a dark jacket and fitted blue pants. She sighed again, only to see those green eyes reflecting on her from the mirror, she turned her attention to read a book written by Ernest Hemingway.

The world is a beautiful place and worth fighting for, and I hate very much to leave it.

Those words brought a gentle smile to Margo's face, the book serving as a fleeting solace, whispering that it was acceptable to endure the weight of eternity. To an outsider, immortality might seem like a coveted gift, an unparalleled treasure, or even a power worth any sacrifice. Yet, for Margo, the reality of immortality was far from bliss—it was an enduring curse.

The city stirred back to life. The streets were reclaimed by the presence of hookers, their attire leaving little to the imagination as they navigated the pavement in high heels. The air carried the cheap perfume they wore, and their voices projected a feigned cheerfulness into the night.

Suddenly, a disturbance erupted near the coffee shop. Discordant and angry voices resonated through the street. Two men engaged in a heated argument—a pimp, brawny and imposing, confronted a frail-bodied vendor. It was a clash of words echoing like the howls of savage dogs vying for dominance.

Margo inhaled a sharp breath and gently shook her head with a hint of annoyance. The noise bothered her from reading the book. She looked outside, squinted her eyes to survey the scene only to see a frail man holding a basket full of white pigeons. Margo drew in a long breath, folding her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead in annoyance. The noise already ruined the beauty of evening she had enjoyed a while ago, Margo decided to gather her things, put them inside the bag, and left the coffee shop.

The moment she stepped outside, a cool summer breeze welcomed her. The bustling crowd, the lights from the passing cars made the city hummed, she walked along the street, she could hear the heated dispute. They were arguing in front of the parking lot.

People passed by, ignored them.

Margo heard their voices, with her footsteps were getting nearer.

The towering man loomed over the vendor, using his height as a tool of intimidation. He seized the vendor's shirt, pulling him close to bellow in his face, "What the hell is your problem?!"

"You worthless shit!" The vendor retaliated, his face contorted in rage, spittle flying with each word. The pimp, fueled by anger, tightened his grip on the shirt, drawing even closer to the vendor's face. In response, the seller clutched the basket, desperately preventing the pigeons from escaping amid the frantic dispute.